


Sweet Life

by indigentsalt



Series: Channels [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 18:41:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigentsalt/pseuds/indigentsalt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short stories based on Channel Orange by Frank Ocean.</p><p>The pack, and Derek specifically, try to convince Stiles to stay close for college. Hijinks ensue?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Life

**Author's Note:**

> This was written mid-season 2, so there will be some discrepancies (re: Jackson, for example.)

“Throw it! Come on, Stiles!” Scott yelled with a grin, preparing himself to run by the fence. Stiles gave him a skeptical look.

“You know I can’t throw these fucking things,” he replied. Scott let out a monster sigh and rolled his eyes.

“Just try. I believe in you, or something,” he joked. Stiles scowled.

“Fine!” he announced, and let the frisbee fly from the the lifeguard’s stand. It sailed wobbily, and Stiles had to admire the superhuman speed that Scott employed to make a dash for the pool. He leapt into the air, grabbed the falling frisbee, and crashed into the surface of the water. Stiles whooped and clapped as Scott surfaced, grinning like- Stiles snorted- like a happy dog that had caught the ball its master threw for him. “Nine out of ten!” Scott laughed, actually _doggy-paddled_ to the rim of the pool, and hoisted himself out. He was throwing the frisbee back to Stiles when he froze, eyes going wide. Stiles saw his wolf ears grow from his head and listen intently, so he knew better than to say anything. Then Scott relaxed.

“It’s just Derek,” Scott said with a shrug, and threw the frisbee back to Stiles. The frisbee hit Stiles’ in the hip, because he was still startled by the news.

“Oof,” he muttered, putting a hand to his side. “What’s Derek doing here?” he asked as he picked it up, wincing. Scott had thrown it _hard_.

“Looking for Scott, who clearly hasn’t remembered to charge his phone again,” Derek answered, and Stiles turned, seeing Derek drop from the chain link fence. Scott made a puzzled face (well, when didn’t he look mildly confused?) and shook the water from his hair. Stiles snorted.

“What’s up?” asked Scott.

“There’s an omega in the area,” he said bluntly, reaching the poolside. Stiles’ eyebrows shot up in curiosity, but Scott just blinked at the alpha.

“Oh.” he said. “What are you going to do about it?”

“He left me a note,” Derek said, and Stiles was delighted. This was getting more and more interesting. “Said he wants to meet the pack. He comes in peace, but he’s doing research on packs across the country.” This was _awesome_. Fucking werewolf scientists! Scott just frowned.

“Who is this guy?” Scott asked. Derek gave a rare half-smile.

“He’s a biologist from Princeton or something. He got bitten accidentally, and now he can’t keep his curiosity in check. He left me his teaching credentials.” Jeez, how cool! Stiles had to meet this guy.

“How do you know you can trust him?” Scott wanted to know, clearly confused by being the less trusting of the two just then.

“He’s submitted already,” Derek answered simply, and to Stiles’ fascination, this appeared to appease Scott at once.

“Okay,” he replied. “When?”

“An hour. Erica and Isaac are already there, Boyd said he’ll be late,” he explained. Scott nodded, looking around and Stiles grabbed a towel and held it out to him.

“Sounds good. I’ll be there soon,” he said.

“Can I come?” Stiles asked. Derek gave him a look that had Stiles cowering in his bare feet.

“He’s interested in the pack,” Derek said, by way of explanation. “Besides, don’t you have to work or something?” he added, gesturing to the pool. Stiles sighed.

Responsibility blew. Scott was pulling on his t-shirt and his socks. “I’ll let you know how it goes man,” Scott told him, and Stiles nodded.

“Have fun,” he said glumly as Scott bounded out the way he had come in, over the fence.

“Stupid human responsibilities,” Stiles muttered. “Stupid summer job...”

Stiles’ father had given him an ultimatum the summer before, when Stiles had spent the whole three months of his freedom gamboling about with werewolves and playing video games until three in the morning: get a job next summer or get sent to Granny Stilinski in Utah. Now Stiles loved his Granny Stilinski, but a whole fucking summer in _Utah?_ And this was the summer of his life, his last before he left for college. No way was he going to mow Granny Stilinski’s lawn and feed her three corgis premium dog food every morning. So his dad had tipped him off that they were building a new country club just outside Beacon Hills and would be looking for employees the next summer. Stiles took a lifeguarding class at school- and who knew you could do that?- and got certified and here he was! Except that summer hadn’t even started yet- it was still the end of April- so no one ever _came_ to the pool. Except Scott, who came a lot of nights that Stiles was on duty, as soon as Stiles texted him that the coast was clear, because it was the second semester of senior year and who took that shit seriously?

But Stiles had to admit, getting paid was _awesome_. He climbed back into his seat on the lifeguard stand, stretched out, and grabbed _A Feast for Crows_ , opening to the page where he’d folded the corner page down.

“Sansa you conniving bitch,” he muttered, shaking his head.

\------

The next time Derek showed up at the pool, Scott wasn’t there. Stiles looked up from his book when he heard the rattling of the fence, glanced around to make sure there were no members present (which he already knew there weren’t) and then squinted to try to see who it was.

“Scott?” he asked. He had thought Scott was with Allison.

“No,” replied a deeper voice, and Stiles frowned, putting down his book and climbing down from the platform.

“Derek?”

“Scott said you got into Northwestern,” Derek said, plopping himself down on a reclining deck chair, if a verb so undignified could be used for someone so lithe and balanced. Stiles made a face.

“Nice to hear Scott sharing my news,” he murmured, and sat on the grass in front of Derek. But he couldn’t really be grumpy about it. He’d gotten into his dream school! Somewhere far away, with real winters, in its own little town but near a big city, with no werewolves... It _was_ a dream. He smiled. “Did you come to congratulate me?” he preened. Derek snorted and punctured Stiles’ confidence.

“Where else did you get in?” Derek asked him.

“Why?” Stiles wanted to know, suspicious.

“Where else did you get in?” Derek repeated.

“I said ‘why’, not ‘what’, I’d’ve thought your superhuman hearing could-”

“I know what you said. Answer the question.”

Stiles huffed. “UCLA, USC, Washington State. Why?” he asked again.

“Where are you going to go?” Derek asked, again ignoring the question. Stiles scowled.

“Well I’ve got to talk to my dad about money,” he began uneasily, “But I’m pretty set on Northwestern.”

Derek was silent for a moment. “Why not UCLA?” he asked. “It’s close.” At that, Stiles’ eyes widened. It wasn’t _really_ an answer to his ‘why’, but it was getting there.

“I mean, it’s a good school but it’s...” Stiles shrugged. “I’m sort of... I’m over California.” He looked away from Derek, baffled as to why they were having this conversation. Why would Derek of all people care that he was going far away? “I want to... See the world.” Derek gave him a look.

“Chicago isn’t the world,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“It’s Evanston, actually,” Stiles corrected automatically. Derek scowled.

“Why suffer the wind and the cold and Lake Whichever-It-Is when you could go to LA and go to the beach?” Derek wanted to know. Stiles frowned.

“Derek, what are we talking about?” he said. Derek looked away from him, and Stiles squinted at the werewolf in confusion. “Be straight here, I’m not one of your mind-reading betas,” he reminded him. Derek let out a snort that Stiles didn’t understand.

“Stiles, you can’t...” He began, and stopped.

“Can’t what?” Stiles prompted, immediately on edge. Naturally, Stiles did not like being told what he could and could not do.

“You’re... You’re part...” He didn’t seem to be able to finish. “Have you asked Scott yet why he’s going to Beacon County Community College?” Derek asked instead. This was getting ridiculous.

“I don’t need to. Allison is going to Scripps, which is only like two hours away, and it’s not like Scott had the marks to get into any of the other Claremont schools,” Stiles pointed out. It was true- Scott’s grades were never very good. But it wasn’t like he couldn’t go to vet school from community college, so he didn’t mind. Derek sighed. Stiles was clearly missing something.

“And Erica, and Isaac, and Boyd?” Stiles frowned.

“I haven’t talked to them for a while. Where did they get in?” he asked.

“Isaac is going to UC Santa Barbara.” Derek said. 

“And Erica?”

“Woodbury University. It’s south of here. And Boyd is going to Harvey Mudd.”

“Boyd got into Harvey Mudd?” Stiles asked, impressed. Derek nodded. “Wait, hold on though.” He paused for emphasis. “Remind me why any of this matters to me?”

“They’re all schools within a two hour drive of here.” Derek said, as if it were obvious. Stiles blinked.

“Okay, so they’re staying all close and cute and pack-y. What’s that got to do with me?” he probed. Derek gave him a look.

“Because you’re pack,” he said, still with the ‘duh’ tone. Stiles barked out a laugh.

“That’s not what you said when the omega came through,” he retorted bitterly, and Derek colored slightly.

“Look, that was-” Derek paused, and Stiles knew from watching Scott that he was listening intently. Then he heard it, flip-flops flapping against pavement. When Stiles looked back at Derek, there was no one there, and only the faint rustling of the fence alerted him to Derek’s speedy (understatement of the year) exit from the pool area. Stiles jumped to his feet and smiled at the elderly couple tottering down the pavement towards the pool.

“Hiya folks,” he said cheerfully. “Welcome to Beacon Country Club. Let me know if I can get you anything.”

\------

In June, Scott had stopped his evening visits to the pool, because suddenly there were loads of people there every afternoon. All the schools had gotten out, so parents had to take their kids somewhere. But something even better had happened: Stiles had been given the key to lock up by his supervisor, who liked to check out at about 8:30 (a half hour before the pool closed) and go smoke weed. Which meant that Stiles could stay at the pool as long as he liked. And get his friends in. So instead of coming while the sun was still up, Scott came well after dark, when Stiles turned the bright lights on, and brought Allison, who usually brought Lydia, who usually brought Jackson, who usually brought Danny; Isaac, Erica and Boyd also came sometimes.  Occasionally Jackson, jealous of Stiles’ new-found popularity from having access the pool, complained that he, too, had a pool in his home. But he didn’t have a waterslide or a super bouncy diving board, so he was usually easily trumped.

On the tail end of an incredibly hot Friday afternoon, Stiles, Scott, Allison, Lydia, and Jackson (Danny had a family dinner) were playing volleyball with a beach ball Stiles had swiped from the toy shed in the pool. Allison and Lydia were creaming him, Scott and Jackson, no matter how many angry outbursts Jackson had.

“Jeez Jackson, just because you _were_ captain of a _high school_ lacrosse team doesn’t make you captain of everything,” Stiles pointed out. He had discovered that the end of high school had meant the end of the ridiculous and unfounded social hierarchy that Jackson had been subjecting him to for the last three years. Jackson scowled. “If we’re going to pick captains based on talent, I’d pick Scott,” he added, grinning.

“Well that’s because Scott’s a freak,” Jackson muttered. Scott took this good-naturedly.

“Well I think you all should be ashamed that a team with no werewolves _and_ short a player _and_ only made up of girls is beating your butts,” Lydia said with a satisfied smile.

“You say ‘girls’ like it’s a bad thing,” Stiles replied, and Lydia turned a surprised smile on him, making his heart explode confetti blasters, and Jackson pinched him on the side under the water, making him yelp. Lydia’s look of appreciation turned to confusion as Stiles flushed darkly.

“Just serve it, Allison,” sighed Jackson, shoving the multi-colored ball back under the net at her. Allison grabbed it and backed up, readying her serve. Lydia had french braided Allison’s hair down her back and she wore a black halter top one piece bathing suit, that day’s eyeliner smeared dangerously about her eyes. She looked like some kind of Amazon princess.

“Six serving four!” she called, and smacked the ball over the net. Stiles and Jackson didn’t react, as the ball headed right to Scott, but all of a sudden, Scott’s head whipped around. He put up a hand to hit the ball, but only knocked it onto the pavement out of the pool. Stiles just stared at his best friend.

“What the fuck, McCall?” Jackson asked as Lydia and Allison high fived. Scott frowned.

“D... Derek’s coming.” A second later, the fence rattled. Scott swam to the edge of the pool and hoisted himself out. The four humans waited, not totally unused to this kind of thing.

“What’s up?” Scott asked as Derek trotted into the light bathing the pool area. He blinked, seeing Jackson, Allison and Lydia (Scott had previously told Stiles that humans didn’t smell half as strongly as other werewolves did, and chlorine really tended to dampen their scent.)

“Nothing,” said Derek, and he sat down on one of the deck chairs. Scott stared at him, and Stiles shared a glance with Allison. Then Stiles squinted at the alpha werewolf. Was he wearing- _oh my god he is!_ Stiles had never seen Derek in anything less than jeans and boots, but there he was, not twenty feet away, in grey shorts and navy canvas sneakers, as well as a v-neck t-shirt.

“Nothing?” Scott repeated dubiously.

“What, does someone have to be dying or invading the territory for me to come?” he asked waspishly. Stiles snorted. “I heard that Stilinski,” he added, and Stiles pretended to be looking the other direction.

“So... nothing’s wrong?” Scott said again. Allison rolled her eyes. Derek just scowled at him.

“So you can come play for our team,” said Lydia, wading towards the pool side to smile up at Derek. Both Jackson and Stiles scowled. “We’re outnumbered. And human.” Derek actually smirked, and Stiles frowned. Lydia and Derek had a strange relationship. She remembered almost nothing of her time as Peter Hale’s conduit to the living. And Derek... Well, Derek appeared, at least to Stiles’ probing and untrained eye, to feel somewhat guilty for her unwanted participation in the world of the supernatural. So he was unusually nice to her, though tended to keep his distance.

“That’s not fair,” Jackson protested. “What if he just makes Scott lose because he’s his alpha?”

“Hey, it’s not like I have _no_ free will,” Scott objected.

“You say that like I need that to win,” Derek said at the same time, and Stiles was all kinds of frowns because this was wrong and Derek was standing up and taking off his shirt and his blood boiled as Lydia let out a kind of muffled little gasp at the sight of his bare chest ( _sound carries over water, Lydia, you should know that_ ).

“We’re already winning anyway,” Lydia reminded everyone who had forgotten (which was no one). Still looking confused, Scott slipped back into the pool, looking over his shoulder at Derek every few seconds. Stiles and Jackson grumbled to themselves as Derek pulled off his shorts too and slipped into the pool in nothing but boxers ( _they’re called swim trunks Derek, no need to be a slut about it_ ).

“That last point totally didn’t count, Scott got distracted,” Jackson said as he tossed the ball over the net to Allison. Allison and Lydia both scoffed.

“As if! You’re such a sore loser, Jackson,” Lydia hmphed, folding her arms under her breasts and Stiles had to look away and think of Granny Stilinski. Although Stiles was ecstatic about having an excuse to see Lydia almost daily, her constant presence in skimpy bikinis (tonight she was wearing his favorite, a yellow bandeau and a white bottom with a knot on each hip) was doing nothing for the unresolved sexual tension brewing within him. 

“But we’ll give it to you,” said Allison, and winked at Lydia’s affronted look, “Since we don’t need the extra point.” Lydia grinned at that. Stiles sighed. He had thought he had escaped emasculation when his final season of lacrosse had ended, but apparently not.

Later, Scott and Allison had disappeared through the wooded area on the edge of the country club to the street where Allison parked her car. Lydia was waiting impatiently for Jackson.

“Good lord, Jackson, you take longer than I do!” she scolded, and Jackson glared at her as he pulled on a lightweight jacket. He had dressed in jeans and a polo, while Lydia had artfully tied some sort of fancy sarong thingy on and slipped her feet into wedge heels (how she was going to slip through the woods to get to her car in them, Stiles had no idea, but she did it on the regular.) Stiles was left to turn off the lights, trudge out the front door, and drive home alone in his Jeep.

When Jackson had boosted Lydia up to the top of the fence, thrown himself over, then caught her on the way down, Stiles turned to shut off the lights, pulling out his cell phone for light.

“So you’ve decided on Northwestern?” Derek asked gruffly.

“Ah!” Stiles exclaimed, whipping around. He hadn’t remembered Derek, who was pulling on his sneakers and shaking out his hair. “Er, yeah. Ages ago, really,” he corrected, hitting the switch for the pool area lights. He knew Derek didn’t need them to see. Stiles slung his bag over his shoulder.

“There’s no convincing you to stay closer?” he asked, and at this, in the darkness of the night, in the emptiness of the club, Stiles turned and stared, dumbfounded, at the alpha.

“To... Oh, are you going on again about this pack stuff?” Stiles scoffed. Secretly, he was pleased. _Very_ pleased. That Derek actually felt like he contributed to the group, that his Adderall fueled factoids and research binges were useful. But he had no intention of letting Derek know that. Finally acknowledging Stiles’ usefulness after a solid two years of all but ignoring him and shunting him to the side for safety did not make him any more inclined to choose UCLA over Northwestern.

“Yes, I am,” said Derek, and his voice sounded almost dangerous, daring Stiles to argue with him. But this was the whole point- Stiles wasn’t pack. Stiles wasn’t a werewolf. That voice didn’t work on him like it worked on Isaac and Erica and Boyd.

“Well you can save your breath, because I’ve got other stuff to do than spend the rest of my life babysitting a pack of overgrown puppies,” Stiles grumbled, and turned on his heel, making for the exit. Suddenly though, Derek grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around again, curling a fist into the red lifeguard pinnie he wore.

“You say that like this family doesn’t mean anything to you,” Derek growled, and Stiles raised his brows at Derek’s word choice.

“What’s it supposed to mean to me?” Stiles retorted. “Look, you guys are great except when you get all fangy and clawy and scary, but you of all people should remember I’m not involved in your spooky supernatural bond or whatever.” Derek let out a growl of frustration that raised goosebumps on Stiles’ shoulders. He wished they could move into the light, so he could gage Derek’s face (and whether he was going to cross the line in making him angry.)

“Don’t you ever wonder why I put up with Allison?” Derek asked, and Stiles wondered who ever taught Derek that he could answer questions with other questions because it was _so_ not useful _or_ amusing. It was downright annoying, actually.

“I wonder about lots of things, but everything you do is an enigma so I don’t worry my pretty little head about it too much,” Stiles answered sarcastically.

“I put up with Allison,” Derek continued, as if Stiles hadn’t said anything, “because she means everything to Scott. If Scott loses her, he would be weaker. Distracted. Unable to give his all to the pack because of what’s left with her.”

“And this has all of what to do with me?”

“Don’t you realize, Stiles? _This pack would be weaker without you_.”

Stiles just stared at Derek, his mouth slightly open, curved bow lips parted in confusion.

“Scott is... Scott’s just one member though,” Stiles protested. “He’ll find other best friends.”

“It’s not just Scott, Stiles,” Derek informed him, and Stiles’ eyes narrowed.

“If you’re trying to tell me that Boyd will miss me, I’m going to laugh myself unconscious.”

“Has anyone ever told you how frustrating you are?”

“Only the entire teaching staff of Beacon Hills High School, why?” Stiles replied. Derek let out another growl/groan and released Stiles’ pinnie.

“This isn’t over yet,” he informed the human, poking him in the chest. Stiles scowled.

“Whatever, boss,” Stiles grumbled, as Derek bounded away from the pool. In the darkness, he couldn’t see Derek clear the fence in the dark, but he heard it rattle. Shaking his head at meddling werewolves, Stiles turned again and made for the exit.

\-------

“Who’s car is that?” Sheriff Stilinski wondered, peeking over the top of his Sunday newspaper and squinting out the kitchen window. Stiles turned his face up from his Lucky Charms, and a few hearts, stars and horseshoes dropped unattractively from his mouth as he saw the Camaro pull into their front yard.

“Probably lost,” Stiles blurted out, and leapt from his seat. His spoon clattered to the table. “I’ll uh, help them find their way.” Sheriff Stilinski frowned as his son dashed from the table and the screen door slammed behind him. He shrugged and went back to the comics, taking a sip of his coffee. He had learned long ago not to question his son’s strange activities.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Stiles hissed as Derek’s window went down, revealing a very unsour looking sour wolf in a - _was that a tank top good lord who did he think he was fooling?_ \- and Ray-Ban aviators and a big sparkling grin. “Do you have a death wish?”

“I am a perfectly law-abiding citizen of Beacon Hills, thanks,” Derek answered casually, and Stiles found his lack of grouchiness unsettling to say the least.

“That’s pushing it,” Stiles grumbled. “You have killed more than one person.”

“Yeah, but they’ve all come back to life, so no harm no foul right?” Derek shrugged. Stiles scowled. “Have you ever been to LA?” Derek asked.

“Don’t change the subject,” Stiles ordered.

“Have you?”

“No,” Stiles said slowly. “Why?”

“Get in,” Derek said, jerking his head towards the passenger seat. Stiles’ gaped.

“Excuse you?”

“Get in. We’re taking a day trip.” Derek explained. Like that was a fucking explanation.

“And why on earth are you, Derek Hale, werewolf, and I, Stiles Stilinski, human, taking a day trip to the City of Angels, if I may inquire?” Derek smiled again, putting Stiles off his guard.

“To show you the sweet life,” Derek answered simply. “Are you getting in? Your dad’s getting up from the table to check what’s going on,” he added. Stiles winced.

“Go down to the end of the driveway. I’ll meet you ten minutes.” Anything to get Derek out of sight of his father. Derek kept his eyes on Stiles for a moment, as if gaging the likelihood of Stiles actually meeting him, then made a large U-turn and headed down the long driveway. Stiles headed back into the house, and caught his dad pretending to sit down like he hadn’t even gotten up.

“Totally wrong side of town,” Stiles said loudly. He was about to sit down to his cereal when he realized the very thought of sugary marshmallow puffs made him want to puke. He casually grabbed the bowl and dumped the contents into the sink, putting the bowl in the dishwasher.

“So what’s on the table for today?” Asked the sheriff as Stiles tried to slip out of the kitchen.

“Uh... Scott said something... About... Something,” he muttered. Sheriff Stilinski raised an unimpressed brow.

“You and Scott still working on specificity?” he asked, going back to his paper.

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that dad,” said Stiles, and marched out of the kitchen. Then he bolted up the stairs, trying to figure out why he was so nervous, and changed into a scarlet and brown striped t-shirt and navy cotton shorts. He shoved his feet into his white Adidas, grabbed a pair of sunglasses, and slipped his phone and wallet into his pockets. He paused, taking a deep breath at his door.

“You know, just going to LA for the day, unplanned, with my best friend’s alpha. A day in the life. God damn,” he muttered as he turned off the lights and ran down the stairs. “If Snookie’s got her own show on MTV, why haven’t I?” he complained as he headed for the front door. His life was ridiculous enough. “Going hiking with Scott!” he lied as he ran outside.

Sheriff Stilinski shook his head as he finished his coffee. “That kid must be allergic to the truth,” he grumbled, getting up to refill his mug.

\------

“You’re not actually taking me to LA so you can dump my body where no one will recognize me, are you?” Stiles asked after an uncomfortable fifteen minutes in the absurdly comfortable Camaro. Even the new, fun, ‘let’s do ridiculously uncalled for things’ Derek couldn’t just erase his normal awkwardness.

“As a cop’s son, you should know that wouldn’t work,” Derek answered as he eased onto the highway. “You know your dad’ll have a missing person’s notice out on you if you’re not home by midnight.” Stiles scowled.

“So if you’re not going to murder me, why on earth are we going?” Stiles asked. Derek looked at him, and Stiles couldn’t help but meet his eyes, trying to be brave. But then he realized Derek was blasting down the interstate at 80 miles an hour and not watching the road. “Look out!” he squeaked as a white SUV began merging in front of them. Without even looking away from Stiles, Derek eased up on the gas, perfectly in tune with the car in front of them when he accelerated again. Stiles huffed. “Show off. Answer the question!”

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Derek asked in disbelief, finally returning his eyes to the road.

“Well I wouldn’t be asking you if I did, eh smartass?” he retorted, and Derek actually _grinned_ , shaking his head. _Oh my god I’m in a car on the highway with a fucking psychopath_.

“You _are_ slow sometimes,” Derek remarked.

“Sorry if I let up on the Adderall when I’m not in school,” Stiles grumbled, affronted. “You still haven’t answered me!”

“And I’m not going to.” He decided. Stiles’ gaped. Not answer a question? Not satisfy his curiosity?

“But you...” No one had ever straight up refused to answer him before. “Yes you are! Or I’ll... I’ll...”

“Get out of the car? Hitchhike home?” Derek asked.

“I could call Scott. He would come get me.”

“Scott’s in on it,” Derek informed him breezily. Treachery!

“What does that even mean?”

“It means Scott wants you to go to UCLA too.” This gave Stiles pause. Scott and Stiles had never really discussed college: Scott had been plenty happy for him when he’d gotten into Northwestern, had pondered about how cool Chicago would be. What really stopped him, though, was Derek’s use of the word _too_. The hints that Derek had dropped had been about Stiles’ departure hurting _Scott_. So who else wanted him to stay close? Stiles’ brow creased.

“What do you mean, too?” he asked.

“I mean the pack. The pack and Scott,” Derek answered, shrugging.

“Why would Isaac care if I went to Chicago?” Stiles challenged.

“Because Isaac and Scott are pack. Because Isaac cares about Scott,” said Derek. “And because you’re pack. So Isaac cares about _you_.” Stiles snorted.

“Look, Isaac and I are friends, but I doubt he’d die without me,” Stiles pointed out. At this Derek gave him a glare that made him shift uncomfortably towards the door. “So why aren’t you going to tell me why you’re doing this?”

“You seem to be guessing all right,” Derek replied.

“But you’re not telling me everything,” Stiles insisted. “You’re holding something back.” Derek shook his head.

“If you can’t figure it out by the end of the day, I’ll tell you when I drop you off at your house,” Derek said.

“Is that a promise?”

“I swear.”

“Pinky swear?” Stiles pressed.

“I’m driving,” said Derek, and Stiles scowled at him.

“Whatever. I’m still considering this a kidnapping until you tell me what this is about,” he informed the older man, crossing his arms and sinking into his seat so he could watch California fly by through his window. Derek barked out a laugh and turned on the radio.

\------

Derek took Stiles to the UCLA campus, got them ‘prospective student’ passes (with Derek claiming he was Stiles’ older brother, earning them a funny look from the girl behind the desk.) Arriving around lunchtime, Derek talked them into one of the cafeterias and they both agreed that the food wasn’t worth mentioning. Or eating. They left hungry, and Stiles managed to burn up what was left of Derek’s patience after the hour and a half long car ride, but the werewolf was calmed after a decent steak lunch (off campus, of course.) They returned and walked the campus north to south, peeked into the quad, snuck into a library, and spied on a summer chemistry course through the huge windows of a ground floor laboratory in one of the science buildings. They got back into Derek’s car and tried to drive around the city, flying up through the Hollywood hills in the Camaro, cruising through Beverly Hills, looking at the domestic paradise and the palm-tree lined roads. As the evening turned cold, Derek turned them towards Santa Monica and the beach.

They pulled into a public parking lot, empty at the end of the day. Stiles stretched his arms to the sky as he stepped out of the car, tapping the door closed with his foot and ignoring Derek’s scowl. Derek locked the car and the pair of them made for the dirt track that led towards the dunes.

“A day of hijinks and hilarity with Derek Hale,” Stiles mused. “Who’da thought? And who’s gonna believe me?” he snorted as the dirt turned soft beneath his feet, and he bent down to untie his shoes and pull off his socks. He noticed that Derek looked terribly at home in his striped sleeveless top and shorts, like an LA bro (and there were a lot of them.)

“Don’t push it,” Derek muttered as he too removed his shoes. “You sing anymore in the car and you won’t make it home to brag about it.” He had just sat through twenty minutes of Stiles’ incredible luck finding Call Me Maybe on maybe all of the radio stations in the LA area. Stiles grinned.

“You liked it,” he scoffed as he scrambled up a dune and paused, staring out over the water and shading his eyes to the vibrantly setting sun. Derek joined him in a more dignified manner. “What a romantic way to end a day,” Stiles sighed exaggeratedly, beaming up at Derek, who shoved him down the hill, and trotted down after him. They stared at the water together, a few feet apart. “It’s so... It’s so blue it’s surreal,” Stiles murmured, as the sun lit up patches of the calm water. Man, maybe there was something to LA. Why see the world when you had the beach? Stiles’ toes sifted in the sand. Well, the beach wasn’t everything. 

Stiles turned to Derek. “You’re not going to buy me ice cream or something?” Stiles asked plaintively.

“Will you go to UCLA if I do?” Derek asked. Stiles laughed, and Derek, apparently surprised, frowned.

“Look, Derek, I had fun, but one day isn’t going to change anything,” he informed him. “First of all, I’ve already sent in my deposit. And second, I’ve... I’ve dreamed about getting out of here for so long. Whenever I think about the opportunities that I can have in a new city, I just like... God, I nearly pissed myself when I got into Northwestern.” Stiles paused and looked at Derek. “LA is great I guess but...” He shrugged, gesturing around to the few people left on the beach, the sinking sun, the sand. “Maybe it’s time to-”

“You talk about Chicago like it can offer you things LA can’t,” Derek said. “Like whatever you want to study won’t be available here, like you can’t get internships or jobs in only the biggest city on the West Coast.” Stiles looked down.

“It’s not... Necessarily...” He didn’t know how to say it. He hadn’t really admitted it to himself either. “About academics.” Derek’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe.” He cringed.

“So that’s what this is about. It’s not about you going somewhere. It’s about you _leaving_ Beacon Hills.” Stiles turned towards towards the water, thrusting his hands in his pockets and taking a few steps away from Derek, whose shoulders tensed visibly. “Hey, don’t walk away from me Stilinski!” he demanded, suddenly angry, and Stiles turned back to him, meeting his eyes uncomfortably. “What, so we’re not good enough for you anymore?” he wanted to know.

It was so ridiculous that Stiles laughed, and Derek fumed. “What the hell does that even mean? ‘Good enough’? You talk like I’m auditioning other werewolf packs as we speak, trying to find the right one for me. That’s ridiculous, Derek. Of course you guys are good enough.” He shook his head.

“So why do you need to leave us?”

“You’re making this sound like a break up!” Stiles exclaimed, bewildered.

“Isn’t it?” Derek asked darkly, taking a few steps closer to Stiles. Stiles’ eyes widened. The gap was starting to close in Stiles’ understanding. “You’re leaving this family, and you’re part of it. You are intentionally, with no regard to those who care about you, going away to find something... Something _better_.”

Stiles was so over this double standard, of him being pack or human depending on what suited the clearly bipolar alpha. “Stop pretending I’m one of you!” he said angrily, jabbing his finger into Derek’s chest. Derek’s eyes widened. “I’m human, Derek, you of all people should remember that! You can’t decide when you want me to be pack and when you don’t. I can’t be just a human extra when you don’t want me to get hurt and one of your fucking little family members when you want to keep me from the best thing that might ever happen to me!” Derek’s mouth opened in shock.

“To- to keep you!” he sputtered.

“Yeah!” Stiles said. “Is it too much for one poor little human to want to live _normally_ for a couple years? Is it so wrong that I want to spend what’s supposed to be the best four years of my life like an average person, instead of fighting for my life every couple of months?”

Stiles was breathing hard, and his throat ached like he was about to cry. He supposed he hadn’t thought about it too hard, but really, these _were_ his motives for leaving. After all, UCLA was a great school. So if he wanted to live the rest of his life in some sort of supernatural pseudo-universe, he totally could. But he didn’t. He wanted to go to college, take classes, go to parties, make out with girls, and... And see the world. This life Scott and Derek had dragged him into... Well he wasn’t nailed to it, like they were. He could still get out.

And why shouldn’t he?

Derek backed off. “If that’s how you feel.” He said, voice calm. Then he turned around and headed over the dune towards where the car was. Stiles watched him with iron birds nesting in his stomach, glanced at the ocean, then followed Derek, away from the sun. He climbed over the dune, brushed off his feet and shoved them back into his shoes. Derek was in the car, the headlights on, motor running. Stiles crept into the passenger seat and buckled his seat belt, and without a word, Derek pulled out of the lot.

It was the most awkward two hours Stiles had ever sat through.

Derek stopped the car at the foot of Stiles’ long driveway, but Stiles didn’t get out. “Look, Derek, I...”

“It’s fine, Stilinski. You made your choice.” Derek was staring out his window, even though there was nothing to see in the darkness.

“You never told me why you did this.” Stiles said. He had an idea already, but he wanted Derek to say it. Because maybe that was what Stiles needed to hear.

“Doesn’t fucking matter. Get out of the car. I won’t bother you with my pack shit anymore.” Stiles was terrified to hear pain in his voice, so he did the only thing he could and bolted from the car.

\------

“So you’re off tomorrow?”

“Sweet mother of all things holy good lord you scared the living _cripes_ out of me!” Stiles gasped, a hand clutched to his pounding chest. Stiles turned to see Derek seated on his windowsill, in a long-sleeved shirt and jeans. “Can’t you knock or something?” he asked uselessly. Derek shrugged, eyes examining the bare room. Melissa McCall had come to assist with the moveout process, when Stiles had admitted a certain uneasiness about tackling the whole thing with just his dad. And the sheriff had been extremely relieved for the help. Mrs. McCall had made Stiles clean out his whole room, something that hadn’t been done in _ages_ , and he was just now pushing his furniture back into each rightful spot. Two big suitcases lay on the floor, with three cardboard boxes taped up on top of them. “Yeah,” Stiles finally said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s like a three day trip, but we’re stopping at my grandmother’s for a couple nights.”

Stiles wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t sure what Derek wanted to hear. He hadn’t talked to Derek in ages. He hadn’t even seen him in the two months since their trip to LA. Derek had stayed conspicuously out of Stiles’ way, never returning to the pool, even when Erica and Isaac tried to invite him. Stiles had later discovered that the entire pack had been in on the ‘win Stiles over to California’ plan, which he privately found _immensely_ flattering. But flattery wasn’t what he needed. He needed normalcy. He needed the world, not the beach. He had tried to bring it up once or twice with the werewolves, but they had all changed the subject at once. Maybe it was a sore spot?

“Well good luck, I suppose,” said Derek, already looking uncomfortable.

“Derek, tell me why you took me to LA,” he pleaded. Derek turned hazel eyes on Stiles, who flinched under their intense scrutiny. He suddenly wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it.

“You don’t know? You haven’t figured it out?” Derek asked. Stiles looked away. “I can hear your heart, Stiles. Don’t play me.” Derek stood and turned in the small space until he was crouched on the sill, facing outside. He glanced back over his shoulder at Stiles. “And you don’t need to tell anyone about it. It can be our little secret.”

Stiles nodded.

“Hope you find what you’re looking for,” Derek added, and leapt from the window.

Stiles heard leaves crunch, then nothing. He turned back to his dresser and put his shoulder against it, shoving it back into the wall.


End file.
